HateHurt
by Creepy on the Internet
Summary: Chapter One is a stream of consciousness from Ritsuka's point of view as he thinks about his mother. Soubi shows up in Chapter Two to comfort him! Rated T just to be safe. Contains mentions of cutting. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic! Hopefully, you won't hate it… This chapter is a stream of consciousness from Ritsuka's point of view as he thinks about his mother, but that should be obvious. Read and review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

HateHurt

She hates me. I wouldn't call it a well-kept secret, if it's meant to be a secret at all. When I do something well, all she can see is what's still wrong; when I ask a question, it's defiance (something her real son would never do); and when I actually do something wrong, no matter how small of a matter and despite my continual apologies and regrets, she explodes. She hates me, and I know it.

It hurts. The pain is more mental than anything else, but I wish it were confined to the physical. That, at least, can heal with time and treatment. It fades, and you can become accustomed to it. My pain grows each day, and I have no outlet for it. I have always been very nonviolent, but some days I just get the urge to punch a wall with all my strength, to watch my knuckles split, to hear and see the bones crack, to look on as my blood flows out, warm and sticky, dripping onto the spotlessly clean floors. But I could never do that. People would see my bandages and wonder what happened. They might see through the walls I spent years building up around my heart; I can't let anyone know about my struggles, the inner pain and turmoil. So I let my pain out the only way I know how…I cut.

That's right; I, the boy with pristine grades, caring friends, and a stoic, nonchalant exterior, cut. Why? The reason depends on the day. Sometimes it's to feel numb, to block out everything that has happened. Other times it's so that I can feel something, anything at all, other than the internal pain I was feeling when I inflicted the injury.

I tried to stop. I try over and over again, but somehow I always revert back to the blade. I know that it cannot solve my problems; if anything, it further complicates my life. I am continually forced to hide my scars lest someone see them. I must avoid blatant changes in attire, such as wristbands or long sleeves, which would arouse suspicion. My brother once caught a glimpse of my arms, but I made an excuse and he seemed to let it go. Come to think of it, he should have seen right through my transparent guise, given the uniformity of the scars; then again, maybe he couldn't believe I would be so stupid because he thinks so well of me. _I_ can hardly believe I'm so stupid. The cutting is oddly addicting, though; lately I have found myself craving the release it provides, desperately wishing to see the very substance of life flowing freely down my arms, trickling over my hands, and dripping off my fingertips.

Every time mom snaps, cursing my inability to be the person I once was or to be more like my perfect brother, I crave my razor more than ever, effectively thwarting my efforts to quit. More than anything, I want someone to talk to, someone who can listen to me without judging, someone who understands and truly cares. I suppose I just want someone to love me. Love – I have begun to forget what it feels like.

* * *

What did you think? I know it's choppy and might flow awkwardly, but that's kind of the point. Thoughts aren't exactly poetic. I'm not a huge fan of this, but it isn't even really a fanfic anyway. I just adapted a diary entry of mine (the only one I have bothered to write in years) because I thought it could fit into this category. Onto the next chapter! *Whoosh!* Please leave a review!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: The long-awaited (I wrote this the day after I published Chapter One) continuation! Two people actually reviewed with requests for another chapter, so you owe this all to them! (Blame them if you hate it.) Lol, I'm a jerk. XD Read and Review!

HateHurt Chapter Two

Ritsuka was shaken out of his stupor by a tapping from his balcony. Sighing, he arose from his bed, pulling the sleeves of his pajama shirt down lower to hide fresh scars (luckily the chill of the night air had prompted him to don long sleeves), and crossed his room to open the door for the person he knew was there. Who would possibly come to his room so late but this man? His fighter.

"Soubi."

"Hello, Ritsuka. May I come in?" he asked, stepping in without bothering to wait for an answer.

Ritsuka stood aside as Soubi gracefully entered and shut the door behind him. Suddenly, he noticed something glinting dully from his bathroom sink, and raced across his room to hide the evidence of his previous activities, motioning for Soubi to sit down as he locked the bathroom door. Ritsuka rinsed his razor quickly and put it into the cabinet under his sink; he then proceeded to scan the bathroom for any hint of blood, which he mopped up with toilet paper and flushed. _Why didn't I clean this up as soon as I finished?_ Content with the safety of his secret for the moment, he returned to his bedroom, and Soubi chuckled softly.

"You had to use the toilet so badly that you couldn't even greet me properly?" The question was teasing, but it managed to irritate Ritsuka all the same.

"Idiot! What I do is none of your concern. And I did greet you! Sort of…"

Soubi smiled softly, crossing the room to plant a chaste kiss on Ritsuka's lips. "_That_," he said, "is what I meant by a proper greeting."

"What's so proper about that!?" Ritsuka replied, blushing furiously and turning away from the older man. "Normal people don't kiss every time they see each other."

"It's normal for people in love. And I lo…"

"Shut up! Don't say things you don't mean, Soubi!" Ritsuka crossed his arms over his chest and was now facing the wall entirely to avoid looking at his fighter, so he missed the hurt looked that briefly crossed his face.

"Is that an order?" Soubi asked in a low voice.

Ritsuka's eyes widened briefly. _Is he admitting it's a lie? That he never loved me?_ "Yes." He whispered, answering both Soubi's question and his own unspoken ones. He squeezed his violet eyes shut tightly, dreading what he was sure Soubi would say next.

"I love you." Soubi said it as simply as if he were noting the weather, and despite having heard it countless times, Ritsuka was shocked at the statement.

"But…I ordered you not to…" he stammered, dumbfounded.

"You ordered me not to say things I don't mean. But I _do_ mean it, Ritsuka. I love you with all my heart. Is this finally proof enough for you? You know that, having been ordered, I _can't_ lie."

Momentarily, the cat-eared boy allowed himself to believe his fighter's words. But then it occurred to him: Seimei. Of course Soubi loved Ritsuka, but it wasn't of his own free will. He would do anything for his previous sacrifice, and would always follow his orders over Ritsuka's. It was a painful truth, especially after the fleeting hope the boy had just felt. Moreover, he knew better than to try talking to Soubi about whether his feelings stemmed from an order or from an honest love; they had been through that discussion multiple times and gotten nowhere with it.

"It wouldn't be the first time you ignored an order of mine, Soubi. You and I both know you don't truly love me, so drop the charade. It's enough already. No one can love me: I'm Loveless. If my own mother hates me, how can I possibly expect love from you?" Ritsuka's voice continuously grew quieter as his speech progressed, until he trailed off almost inaudibly, overcome with the painful certainty he felt at what he said.

"Ritsuka…" Soubi began, ready to counter everything the boy had said, desperately wishing to rid this child of the immense burden he was forced to bear.

"Don't! Just…don't. Please leave. _Please_. I can't have this conversation." His fingers twitched with a desire for his blade, and he made his way towards the bathroom, hoping Soubi would take the hint and depart without further debate.

Sensing something amiss, Soubi grabbed Ritsuka's wrist to prevent him from walking out in the middle of what he felt to be an exchange they needed to have. Ritsuka flinched slightly at the sudden contact, and moved to wrench his arm away from the blonde without thinking. With a start, he became cognizant of his scars tearing open with the combined forces of Soubi's firm grip and his own struggle to escape. Now even more motivated to be rid of Soubi lest he see the blood, Ritsuka finally freed himself, but Soubi agilely wrapped his arms around his small torso to hold his sacrifice in place before he could rush off. It was only then that he noticed the crimson stain slowly steeping the stark white sleeve of Ritsuka's shirt.

"Ritsuka, you're hurt! Why didn't you say anything? Did_ that woman_ do this to you? Your pitiful excuse for a mother?"

"Don't talk about her like that! She's still my mom, no matter what happens! And she didn't do this anyway," he murmured.

Soubi scoffed, indignant. "So who am I to believe hurt you? You certainly didn't do this to yourself!"

Ritsuka gave Soubi a vacant look that sent chills down his spine; then he rolled up both his sleeves, holding up his wrists for the earless adult to see. Blood continued to ooze from his right wrist, but there were scars on both, at least seven on each arm, some older and some clearly fresh. Soubi stared in shock, unsure of what to do or say at this point; apparently, his little sacrifice was going through more than he thought.

"Why? If you had a problem, I could've helped you. I would do anything for you. I love you," he asserted gently. Ritsuka averted his gaze at this declaration, mumbling something Soubi couldn't quite make out. "What was that?"

"I said to stop saying that. And that this isn't something you can help me with. I have to deal with this alone, because your version of 'helping' would only hurt her."

Soubi was enraged. "So this is about your mother after all. She may not have made those cuts, but she might as well have."

"Don't say that! This isn't her fault. If I was the right Ritsuka, her real son, there wouldn't be a problem. It's my fault," he said faintly, on the verge of tears.

Turning Ritsuka to face him, Soubi tilted his chin up so they were looking into each other's eyes. "I'll stop blaming her," (_in front of you_) "if you promise to stop blaming yourself." He took Ritsuka's hand into his own and began bandaging it with the first aid kit the often-injured boy kept on his bureau. "None of this is your fault. You must know that. If you ever feel the need to cut, call me anytime; I'm here for you." He kissed the bandages gently. "Please don't hurt yourself. You're the one who scolded me for supposedly being a masochist, remember?"

Ritsuka smiled slightly at the memory. He allowed Soubi to lay with him that night, silently comforting him with his presence alone. The next morning, Ritsuka promised not to cut, to call if he had problems – though he could not have reverted to the blade that day even if he wanted to, considering Soubi had stealthily gotten rid of them all while Ritsuka slept – and Soubi left the same way he had entered the night before.

"Goodbye, Ritsuka. I love you. Please believe me, and remember what I said." He kissed him, and then was gone.

And for the first time, Ritsuka allowed himself the luxury of hoping with every fiber of his being, if not undoubtedly believing, that the words of his fighter were true.

"Bye, Soubi. I'll do my best."

* * *

Well. That was much longer than I intended it to be, but I just could not figure out how to end it; it feels too abrupt. I hate when fics start out full of angst and end perfectly happy – because life doesn't work that way. I wanted to end with a touch of hope but no guarantee of a happily-ever-after. I failed. Sorry. Please review regardless! Constructive criticism would be much appreciated! **REVIEW!** It's not that hard, and it makes me happy!


End file.
